


Spring to Autumn

by SineadRivka



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Fluff, Fluffy Ending, One Shot, fluffy fluff, just wanted to write something sweet and cute, sex references, silliness, silly things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4493556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SineadRivka/pseuds/SineadRivka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two mechs meet under a Senator's window. Neither knew what to expect out of their evening, but this went wildly out of anything they could have dreamed of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spring to Autumn

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't expect this to go beyond two pages, max. It's relatively unedited, and just full of fluff and silliness. I'm not planning on adding to it at the time of posting this, since I need to do more for TWDTH and Nested Sparks. One of those two will be updated over the next week at the earliest.

It was nothing.

Well, they had hoped that it was nothing.

There shouldn't have been anything between them, and here they were.

Staring at each other. Staring at the ground. Staring at their hands that were woven fingers around each other. Staring at their betrayed silence.

It really shouldn't have happened. It really shouldn't have. They were too different. One a diplomat, the other a laymech. One just barely out of their youngling years and the other well into their adulthood. Each lusting romantically after one another and over another in their sphere of influence that they’d never even seen in person. They weren't sure it was a good idea for them to become involved. They were each the type to just jump in, but each could tell that their Sparks sang at this meeting.

Both had been corresponding with their mutual crush, but . . . how would they work this out?

They were so fragged.

"Um."

"I wasn't expecting . . . um. You.”

“I . . . was expecting someone a little older.”

“Well, we, I guess, just . . . how are you even a Senator?!”

Silence.

One spoke. “How . . . how _old_ are you?”

Embarrassed silence. “Almost five vorns.”

“Primus take me kicking and screaming, you’re only _four vorns_? I’m going to the Pit.”

“I’m well into my majority, Senator. A vorn and a half is our rite of majority.”

“You know your laws, I understand. And you know the people in ways that I do not.”

“Well, some of them. You get a good idea off of Megatronus’ essays for other facets of the culture that certain other Senate members would rather sweep under the surface.”

They shared a grin and their fingers tightened in a gleeful moment of shared fandom. Yes, both admittedly had the hots for a gladiator.

“May I ask . . . _are_ you concerned with my youth?”

Pause, smile, and the head shook while fingers tightened around the skilled hand. “Not in the least. Are you intimidated with my status as Senator?”

“Why would I be? It’s a role and title that you have had to fight to achieve and hold.”

A window slammed open above them, revealing a grumpy and recognizable red-and-white visage. “Senator Elita, will you take your paramour _away_ from under my window, or were you simply _teasing_ me with what I’m having to go without tonight because my lover is on duty? And who the Pit has actually gotten you _out_ of your celibacy?” Ratchet squinted down at the little data clerk, whose gaze darted away, then back up at the legendary Senator.

“This is Orion; I’ve handed you some of his writing.”

“A _youngling_ wrote those words? Pit, bring him over to the clinic after you two lovebirds have had your fun! Go! I have work to do before I leave my office!”

Orion’s jaw dropped at the same rate as the windowpane. He looked to Elita. “Does he mean that?”

“Absolutely.”

“Drink’s on me.”

“You don’t have the credits for it,” she countered, holding her arm out for him to take. “Allow me to treat you, my delightful little data clerk. I know just the place, and it’s close enough to the clinic. Now, did you say that you were built by Alpha Trion? How is my old frame-creator doing these orns?”

The topics roamed back and forth on the walk to the quaint artists’ bar. A black and white mech with the build of a courier was up crooning early Golden Age era songs on the stage, a golden mech with Artisan Academy stripes was sketching madly to capture the expressions around him, a quiet debate between construction and demolition mechs was taking place in a corner, and singles and couples enjoying the atmosphere were scattered throughout the room.

Only one table was free, and the barkeep nodded them towards the quietest corner away from where the black-and-white entertainer was now winding up into a dirty little ditty about a fictional Prime and Protectorate cheating on each other . . . with each other. A mech took up much of the corner, blue optics glancing up once, then back down to whatever it was he was writing on a battered datapad that was far too tiny for his hands. They sat with a nod to the diligent and large mech, continuing their conversation over the simple spiced midgrade that Elita ordered. Within a few breems, they had gotten to the point of gesticulating and arguing quietly over how a law was functionalist versus framist. It caught the attention of the brute, who didn’t move but watched them with open curiosity.

“Primus, Orion, it’s meant to help those with various _frames_ , not work against those who are too large for our current energy crisis to support!”

“Are you even _listening_ to yourself, _Senator_ Elita-One?” Orion growled, leaning in and pointing his hand at the table imperiously. “I may only be four vorns old, but I am in a frame that is on the _cusp_ of being told is _incompatible_ with the law itself! I was brought online with a function already chosen for me. I was not one lucky enough to be Sparked into a frame commissioned by mechs with status and wealth. I, a Spark without limitations, was birthed into a frame that was designed for _one_ purpose in mind: mining for and sorting through data. Functionalist. Reasoning.”

She sat back, tapping fingertips against the table.

Orion waited patiently for her answer, but decided to address their cornermate, turning in his seat to offer a true apology. “I’m terribly sorry that we’ve disturbed your off-shift time, uh . . .”

The mech moved a little further into the light, revealing damaged plating and a rugged handsomeness that set both the data clerk and the senator’s Sparks flaring with shock.

“I . . . never expected to meet with two of my correspondents in this manner.”

“Oh, frag me,” Elita whispered.

“Me first,” Orion claimed with a grin and a hand held out. “Megatronus, it is my pleasure.”

Shaking the hand, the miner and poet smiled winningly to the Senator, whose face was flushed and optics sparkling. “Oh my. I have stunned the Senator into silence.”

“Give me enough attention, and you’ll get the opposite reaction,” she replied with a laugh, finally moving to take his free, offered, hand. “My private rooms aren’t too far away, and they’re close enough to Senator Ratchet’s that if we wished to drop in on him after . . . _talking_. . . I’m sure he’d enjoy your view as well.”

“Oh, my, but Orion, you have riled her,” Megatronus teased. “I have never been able to get quite the reaction that you have. How enticing.”

“She is art, is she not?”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Elita laughed, reaching over to shove at Orion’s shoulder, only to have him catch her hand and kiss the knuckles.

“I do please.”

“And you have given the little data clerk reason to bare his fangs.” The large mech leaned in to short-wave burst their comm-links with a quick message. _:I would very much like to debate, but any more loud dissention will garner attention that we cannot afford. And perhaps after talking, I would love to share some pleasure. My crew is between mining jobs, and as such, I am in no hurry to go anywhere.:_

Orion threw back the last of his drink, stood, and boldly reached over to stroke delicate fingertips along the broad features of a mech he very much desired. “I still claim first frag.”

“Oh, Pit take you,” Elita laughed. “Making me watch two handsome mechs enjoy each other? How _tedious_.”

They swept themselves out of the bar and into her private apartment. Orion closed the door behind them, optics blazing with appreciation and lust--

“He’s awake!”

“Frag you, get that Spark-stabilizer and powerplant online _now_! He shouldn’t be conscious!”

Struggling, the mech tried to sit up, pushing against several sets of hands that were holding him down.

“Get your aft back down, or Primus help me, I will _weld_ you down!”

“Move! I have the sedative! _Move!_ ”

That voice.

Optics finally lit, and he saw the shape of a familiar face, one hand shoving the sedative into the medic’s grasp, the other going to his shoulder and pushing him down.

They stared at each other.

Memory was returning, one block at a time. Notes on the older, less-important memory blocks, and here and there came full memories. He must have been hit _hard_ in the ring to have this much memory loss, but . . . why was Orion in the medical ward?

The room became quieter as his struggling stopped, the medics moving and demanding things of each other in quieter tones. Clearly, they trusted Orion to keep him calm.

“Orion.”

“Still here, old friend. We won.”

Old friend. Old friend? How many vorns did he lose from his memory? “Elita?”

“Commanding our troops, with Ironhide and Soundwave guarding her. We’re safe. We won.”

“Oh.”

“What year is it?”

“I . . . don’t know. How hard was I hit, Orion? When did you get a warframe?”

The tension returned to the mech’s face, but was replaced by resigned sadness. “Megatron, my Protector and my Spark, you designed it for me when the Quintessons attacked Cybertron two thousand vorns ago. What was the last thing you remember? Fully, not in fractions or fragmented thoughts.”

He’d had this conversation before, it appeared.

“Going before the Senate with you and Elita . . . Ratchet watching us . . . Ratchet?”

“Right here. Keep your head still. That was a long, long time ago.”

“Frag.”

“Yeap. Don’t try to force your memory to come back. You’ll make my job harder. Knock Out?”

“On it.” The smaller mech’s hands were deftly weaving in and around the exposed innards of the warlord, while Ambulon watched vitals and Ratchet remained focused on Spark and powerplant. “Leaks are ninety-five percent contained. Ninety- _seven_. I’m good.”

“You’re cocky. Call in an intern to start mopping. One that won’t add their tank to the sludge at the sight of a mech in pieces.”

Megatron focused back upon his Orion . . . “Oh. Optimus.”

A bright grin, still young, met his name. “I am that name in public, yes.”

“But . . . Orion with . . . with us. Elita and myself. We . . . .we Bonded?”

“Yes.”

“Mm. Good sex?”

“We’ve rattled Cybertron a few times. And annoyed our elders and neighbors most nights. We all agree that they were jealous of our ability to just slagging keep going.”

“I look forward to reclaiming those memories.”

“Again.”

“Again? Oh, so this isn’t the first time I lost my memories?”

“No, just the most worrisome. ”

Chuckling, the silver mech shook his head, optics never leaving his lover’s. “You seem resigned.”

“I am. You refused a processor transfer and upgrade after the first time this happened, knowing that there was a chance that with enough trauma, you would be unrecoverable.”

“But I’m here. I am very much here.”

“Yes. You’re here.”

“Mostly intact?”

“Hah, not even mostly,” Ratchet snarked, “but you’ll survive.”

“That’s what matters,” Megatron replied, hearing the door open and seeing a large femme storm in and loom over him. “Oh, my dear, you are _glorious_ with that frame. Delightful. Delicious. Hello.”

“Optimus, _how high_ is our Bondmate?”

“Very?” Optimus checked the label of the sedative Ratchet had sent him running for. “Very. Very high. And mostly intact. Remembers up to our ultimatum to the Senate.”

“He seems stuck on that point a lot.” She looked back down at the mech grinning quite stupidly up at them. A smile tugged at her own lips, and she leaned down to kiss the tip of a crooked nose. “I love you, Megatronus. I’m glad you’re a stubborn old mech like me who doesn’t want to leave our bratty youngling behind.”

“Nawww . . . Orion’d be fiiiiiine.”

She facepalmed. “Oh. Right. The _first_ Senate ultimatum. Not the second, third, or sixth.”

“Buh?”

Optimus’ shoulders shook with laughter, but his hands moved to stroke the prone mech’s face. “We have three children, Megatron. You and I, then myself and Elita, and you and Elita created our youngest.”

“We have _kids_? Wait. We _made_ Sparklings? Not relying on Vector Sigma? I’m a _sire_?”

“And a carrier. You were adorable. But your systems didn’t like carrying that much and you _hated_ us waiting hand-and-pede on you. You claimed that you would never carry again, but would more than enjoy helping whoever carries next.” Elita teased him gently, moving in for another kiss. “And now that we’ve won, we’ll be safe to have another brood. But. I’m going to start mopping up your fluids so that Ratchet can work. Orion is going to stay with you.” She moved out of his line of sight, grabbing the mop, rags, and bucket from the intern that appeared at the door, shooing them away and starting the work of helping clean up after her mate.

Optimus, in the meantime, was distracting the half-drugged mech with kisses to his helm, nose, chin, cheeks, and occasionally lips. All while upside-down. Megatron muttered something about absurd kissing positions, giggled, and slowly powered down into a restful recharge, pressing his helm against Optimus’ palm.

Ratchet smiled and returned to his work.

It took three carefully-plotted vorns, but he was glad that he and Alpha Trion was able to bring these three together to save their world from itself and from outside threats.

He smiled at Knock Out, who took the grin of the mech who sired him for face value that the Lord Protector would see another day, and with renewed vigor, continued the repairs.


End file.
